


beneath the stars

by daggerons



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Roleswap AU, an excuse to write teen harrai, and a little bit of varrow. just a smidge, safetdp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16236611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerons/pseuds/daggerons
Summary: viren steals an egg, throws a kingdom into chaos, and now his friends have to push him into doing the right thing aka a roleswap au ft. all the insults i could think of to call viren, an excuse to write teen harrai, sarai kickin some elf ass, and prince harrow





	1. blame the mage

Being summoned to the throne room was not unusual. Harrow was the prince, and his father had a tendency to keep him at arm’s length. What was out of the ordinary, however, was the tension in the king’s voice. The way he almost seemed scared as he told his son that he was sending him out of the castle for the next couple of days, to their winter lodge, despite it pointedly not being winter. Harrow did not protest, but he was unsettled by his father’s strange behavior. He left the throne room confused and a little off put by the conversation they’d had.

  
Instead of heading back to his chambers, to make preparations for his trip, Harrow made his way to the library, where he knew Viren would be chest high in books on magic. Viren, who was training to be a mage like his father, who was the king’s high mage, could always be found at the library now. Before, he had spent a considerable amount of time with Harrow, off to the sidelines while he trained, or both of them sneaking snacks from the kitchens. But, now, he studied, and Harrow hardly saw him.

  
He found Viren exactly where expected, face in a book that Harrow couldn’t even begin to guess the topic of.

  
“Viren,” Harrow said, hoping his friend wasn’t too engrossed in his reading. Viren either didn’t hear him or chose to ignore him. Harrow rolled his eyes, quickly snatching the book from Viren’s grasp, and holding it behind his back. Viren protested immediately, face eventually settling into a scowl. “I was reading that.” He said, crossing his arms with a look of annoyance.

  
“I know,” Harrow said, tossing the thick bound book back on the table. It made a resounding thud and Harrow was glad they appeared to be the only people in the vicinity. He sat in the chair across from Viren, who now had his full attention. “I came because I missed you.”

  
Viren sputtered and Harrow giggled. Viren made to leave, gathering himself and pushing his chair back.

  
Harrow reached out before Viren was out of reach. “No, no, wait don’t go. This is important.” He said quickly, smiling. Viren’s scowl was gone, and it was very clear he was trying not to smile as well and failing. A bit of a blush creeped up his cheeks. He huffed, but sat down nonetheless.

  
Harrow’s smile suddenly dropped as he remembered his meeting with his father.

  
“Viren, do you know if anything is happening?” He asked, looking down at the table between them.

  
“Well, his royal pain in my ass is interrupting my studies, and—”

  
“This is serious,” Harrow cut in sharply. “Father is sending me away for a couple of days.”

Viren paused. The smile on his face that had been slow to rise fell quickly as his expression matched Harrow’s own somber one. He sighed softly. “I heard my father say something about elves in the woods.

They’re not sure yet, but, that might be it. Ever since the death of the dragon king, your father’s council has been worried about retribution.”

Harrow could tell there was something Viren was leaving out. “What kind of elves?” He asked, cautiously. The answer wouldn’t be a simple one.

“I don’t know, but Harrow, look, maybe it’s for the best if you just went along with what your father says. He must have his reasons.” Viren had always been a terrible liar. Harrow could tell there was something he wasn’t saying, out of concern or something along those lines. He wanted to protect Harrow from the truth, and that made Harrow angry. He was the prince, not the other way around.

“Viren.” He said, voice hard.

Viren sighed, finally met Harrow’s eyes. “Moonshadow elves.”

Harrow felt his heart in his throat. “Tomorrow night’s moon is full.” He said, tightly, feeling something like fear. Moonshadow elves were deadly in their own right, but when the moon was at its peak, they were unstoppable. Harrow had heard stories, and he knew there must be some exaggeration, but if even a fraction of what he’d heard was true, there was cause for concern.

Viren didn’t reply, just closed his eyes. “Father isn’t sure about. . .” He trailed off. There were a couple of seconds of silence, but he eventually continued, softer. “Your father will have the finest warriors in the kingdom looking after him, Harrow. He’ll—” Viren struggled. “He’ll be fine.” There again was that concern, and Viren’s terrible attempt at making Harrow feel better.

“I’m not leaving,” Harrow said, making up his mind. “I’ll stay and defend him, I’ll—”

“Harrow—”

“I won’t leave him to die!” Harrow said, heat flushing to his cheeks. He was barely eighteen, but he was decent enough with a sword, and practiced with armor. He could help. He had to. Viren said nothing, looking at him. Harrow didn’t feel like he could justify what he felt, the stubbornness of wanting to just be there, to witness what might change his entire world. It would be the death of the king, their leader, but also his father. Even though he and him didn’t have the warmest relationship, Harrow had a duty to both the crown and his family.

Harrow then felt he had to do something, anything other than just sitting there wasting time. He left Viren, who barely reacted, and figured that if there was a battle coming, then he needed to prepare.

As the sun set, and the stars rose, Harrow stayed in the courtyard. He hadn’t seen his father since the morning, but no one had said anything about him staying at the castle. After all, he wasn’t the target of the elves.

As much as he wanted to put the thoughts out of his head, he kept thinking about what would happen if his father died. After the seven days of mourning, Harrow would be crowned. He was only eighteen, but there had been younger rulers. He was sure the king’s council would be the ones truly in charge, Harrow only being a figurehead. A visible leader. A target.

Wrapped up in his own thoughts and worries, he almost missed the figure darting in the shadows. Alarmed, Harrow got up, silently. He followed the person down to a section of the castle Harrow rarely visited.

He kept his distance, but before long he was right behind the person, who wearing a rather dramatic cloak, and watched as they pressed some stones along the wall.

Harrow waited a couple of seconds after they had entered the secret room, and then walked in behind them. He blocked the light from the hallway, and the person noticed, turned quickly and—

Viren.

It was Viren.

“Harrow—” He said, clearly startled. He looked around, quickly, nervously.

Harrow narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing here? Where is here?” The room wasn’t small, but it was rather dark, and full of strange objects that Harrow couldn’t begin to guess the origins of.

“I—” Viren started, paused. “I—Uh. I’m not—here. I’m not doing anything here.”

“Then, why do you look so guilty?” Harrow asked.

Viren’s eyes flitted to the sword at Harrow’s belt. He had not put it away after training, and it still hung there. Viren was well aware that Harrow knew how to use it. “I can explain.” He said, simply.

Then, Harrow noticed it. He wasn’t sure how he missed it, before, since it was huge and glowing and bright. A dragon’s egg.

“Viren.” Harrow said. He wasn’t even sure if there was he meant to add to that.

“Father doesn’t know about it,” Viren said, tone guilty. “I was there when they killed the dragon king and I—well, I saw a chance and I. . .I took it.”

Harrow still didn’t know what, exactly to say. He hah heard about the missing-presumed-dead dragon prince, of course, but there was a lot about the last mission to Xadia his father and his council had been keeping secret.

“We have to tell my father,” Harrow said firmly.

“No!” Viren said, looking cornered and shaking his head furiously. “Don’t you know what they’ll do to me?”

“Do you know what I want to do to you?” Harrow said, angrily. He knew Viren to come up with what he called “creative solutions” sometimes but this was different. This was cruel. This was a child taken from its mother. Harrow thought he knew Viren better than anyone else, but even he was thrown off by this revelation. it was hard to wrap his head around, harder still to make sense of.

“You can’t tell your dad.” Viren said, backing away slowly. He was taller than Harrow by a good couple of inches, but that didn’t entirely seem to matter now. “He’ll exile me, or—or—” Viren stumbled with his words. He collapsed in the nearest chair, dropping his head in his hands.

“Or you’ll be executed. Or sent to Xadia to have the elves do the dirty work. I know, Viren. I know what my father is capable of.” Harrow knew of the ugly choices his kingdom had made, of them being backed against a corner, with no solutions. He also knew that even though Viren was the son of the high mage, the king would not hesitate to deliver swift, firm justice. Harrow wasn’t even sure Viren’s own father would try to stop it.

“Please, Harrow,” Viren begged, looking up at his friend.

Harrow sighed, suddenly exhausted. Viren was his friend, and as much as he would love to pass this burden to someone else, it was now his job to solve this problem. And, truth be told, there was only one thing they could do. The only thing that could surely make things right. “We’re taking it back,” Harrow said, “to the dragons. To its mother.”

Viren clearly wanted to argue, but he held his tongue.

“Or, you can explain to my father that he might die for a stupid dumb idiot mage’s stupid dumb idiot mistake.” Harrow said, a little more lightly.

“You sure you don’t want to call me pigheaded as well?” Viren said, but there was relief in his voice. They had always stuck together. This seemed to be no exception.

“We’re leaving tonight, before dawn. I’ll leave message that I’m taking you with me to the lodge. It’ll work out.” It has to, Harrow added silently. He knew this wouldn’t stop this assassination attempt, but it might prevent further ones, if it failed. If his father lived.

“Just the two of us? With elf assassins in the woods somewhere?” Viren asked, skeptical.

“It won’t be just the two of us.” Harrow said, keeping his voice even. He looked over at Viren, who was still sitting in the chair. Their eyes met, and for second, Harrow smiled.

“You are not bringing your girlfriend, Harrow,” Viren said.

“If I die, she’s the only I trust to kill you to avenge me.” Harrow said, trying to figure out how exactly he was going to explain this to Sarai.

 

Half an hour later, Harrow was outside of the lodging Sarai shared with her family. She was six months younger than Harrow, but she already had a comfortable position as a crownguard. She was the best fighter Harrow knew, and she was also the only one he could think to convince to come with them. Even though her parents were often deployed to the breach, it appeared that they were home for the moment. It made Harrow feel guilty, that this could work out.

Viren had left to pack a couple of things. Harrow had the egg in his pack, not entirely trusting Viren alone with it. Viren hadn’t argued, which was proof that he agreed on that, at least. Harrow hadn’t packed anything for his trip to the lodge, so he had hurried up to his chambers, hastily thrown together a couple of things he thought he might need. He kept his sword at his side, looking over his shoulder far too often. Luckily, it was night, and the guards patrolling barely gave him a second glance. He would have loved to grab some armor or anything sturdier than the tunic he wore, but that might raise some questions that he did not want to answer.

Instead of going to the front door, Harrow stopped before the window of the room Sarai shared with her sister Amaya. She was barely twelve, but Harrow had no doubt the little girl could wipe the floor with him as well.

He saw Sarai reading by the candlelight. Amaya was doing something on the bed, so she saw him first, and then tugged on her sister’s sleeve to get her attention, pointing to the window. It wasn’t unusual that Harrow stopped by this way.

Sarai greeted him with a grin, and a playful, “Out for a stroll, my prince?” Harrow would have loved given any other circumstance, but he was starting to feel maybe he shouldn’t ask this of Sarai. So, he had to get the words out before he could talk himself out of asking.

“I need your help, tonight, right now, actually, but, it’s—” Harrow started, words tumbling out, ungracefully. “It’s Viren, and I—hm. Do you think we could have the room?” Harrow said, a little sheepishly and very self-consciously.

“Really?” Sarai said, with a teasing smirk. Harrow knew Amaya was adept at reading lips, and he wanted as little people know about what they were going to go do. Sarai turned nonetheless, signed words Harrow didn’t quite know—he knew enough to say, “where is your sister?” and “good morning” but this was beyond him. Amaya smiled a toothy smile and left them.

“Told her the prince’s idiot friend has a problem,” Sarai explained. “Don’t think she bought it, though. Now, what’s so important that you can’t even flirt back?”

Harrow would have laughed, but suddenly he felt the crushing pressure of time pushing down on him. There was a strange sensation spreading through his body, as if it had barely taken this long for him to fully process all that had happened in the last day.

“I think it’ll be easier if I show you,” He said, motioning for her to lean out the window while he opened the top of his bag. The egg shown through, easily. For some reason, it seemed to shine brighter under the open sky.

Sarai said nothing, mouth hanging open. Then, she let out a small “Viren?” and subsequently, “I am both impressed and let down. Is that even possible?”

“It’s a long story, and I can explain on the way. We’re taking it back.” Harrow said, closing the flap and covering the egg. He slung it over his shoulder, and he could swear he could its warmth through the fabric.

“‘We?’” Sarai repeated, eyebrow quirking up. She crossed her arms and leaned against the window pane.

“Uh, please?” Harrow said, sheepishly. “Or, I guess, that might be an order? From your prince? Your handsome boyfriend?”

Sarai rubbed at the space between her eyebrows while she thought it over. “I guess someone has to keep you two fools alive. The king better give me a medal. Wait—the king. Why don’t you just take it to him?”

Sarai asked, looking him in the eye. Harrow wasn’t a bad liar, but he always found it hard to keep secrets from her. He shifted uncomfortably, thinking it was better to avoid answering that particular question.  
“Harrow, so help me, if you die because of that idiot I’m never going to forgive you.” She shook her said, exasperated.

“They could execute him.” He offered.

“And he’ll deserve it!” She said, with an edge in her voice. She had always held that given the chance, Viren would betray Harrow in some way, shape, or form. Harrow guessed she might have the chance to finally get the answer to that hypothetical.

Harrow let out a breath, closed his eyes. “Sarai, please. He’s my friend.” He asked gently. If she refused, he would still continue, but he would have preferred to have her by his side. Around her, he felt stronger, braver. He figured he would need that courage.

“On one condition,” she relented, “if it comes down to him or peace with the elves and dragons—you won’t hesitate.” She grabbed his arm, looked him straight in the eye. It was just the two of them, with the stars as witnesses. And yet, Harrow felt a million eyes on him.

“I—I’ll try.” He promised. It was the best he could do. Viren was his oldest friend and even though tonight posed an obstacle—could he really just write him off? He was a prince, would be a king, one day, hopefully in the distance future, a servant of the people, but he was also a person, a friend. He didn’t know. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out.

“Fifteen minutes. Meet me at front gates.” Sarai said, already looking around to figure out what she would need. “I need to come up with something convincing.”

“Say your kingdom needs you?” Harrow offered.

“You’re so lucky I’m in love with you.” She said, shaking her head with a small smile.

Leaving the castle proved to be a lot less of an obstacle than Harrow thought it would be. He told the guards stationed at the gate that they were headed off to the winter lodge. They saw he had Sarai, who pretty much all the crownguards knew, and that he had Viren, who would have killed the mood between him and Sarai, and they let him go. They didn’t even question why he was leaving in the middle of the night. It was kind of anticlimactic, but Harrow guessed they could get their blood pumping later.

“Why didn’t we bring horses?” Viren complained, for like the third time. He wasn’t too fond of being outside the castle walls, or the wilderness in general.

“They make too much noise, and if you haven’t noticed, there are elf assassins in these woods.” Harrow said. They were making slow progress, but Harrow didn’t think it would be wise to wait until the sun came up. Tomorrow’s moon was full, after all.

“There’s a high chance they’ll find us anyways,” Sarai said, casting a sideways glance at Viren, “do our dirty work.” She had packed lightly, a sword at her side and some armor at her shoulders, along with a small pack across her back.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Viren asked, clearly looking for a fight. Harrow sighed. When they got like this, he wasn’t ever able to stop them. He had hoped they had made a little more progress before this particular issue came out into the light.

He had hoped that if he just kept walking, they would just follow him, but then he heard Sarai’s footsteps stop. Harrow turned and saw her give her full attention to Viren. She was shorter than him, but it never truly felt that way. Harrow knew she was the only one who could the fear of death in the mage.

“I just want to know what was going through your brain, that’s all. Explain your thought process to me, Viren.” She crossed her arms. Harrow didn’t want to get between them, even though they really didn’t have time for this, so he leaned against the nearest tree and rubbed his temples.

“I wasn’t thinking! Is that what you want to hear?” Viren shot back, angrily. “I wasn’t thinking because I’m a fool that doesn’t think things through and couldn’t possibly have legitimate reasons. You figured it out, Sarai.” He gestured as he spoke, looking everywhere but at Sarai.

“What possible justification could you have for stealing an egg from a dragon? Did you want an omelet? Was the mage hungry?” Sarai said heatedly. She was close enough to Viren that she could have smacked him if she were so inclined. Harrow wasn’t sure if he wanted to see that or not. Viren crossed his arms, rolled his eyes.

The two of them stood there, fuming, two immovable objects in their own right. Harrow pushed himself off the tree and got closer to them.

“Look,” He started, placing a hand on each of his friend’s shoulders, “we can argue about this later, preferably when we aren’t out in the open. We have the egg now. We have to get it back to where it belongs.

And we’re going to get there in one piece, together.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he saw the glint of metal. Without thinking, he pulled both his friends down, the knife lodging itself into the bark of the tree directly behind Harrow.

“Elves,” Sarai said, looking at the knife and then scanning the trees around them. She let out a curse, pulling her sword from its scabbard. Harrow was still a couple of steps behind, hand barely going down to the hilt of his own weapon.

“Run. Don’t look back.” She said, still looking into the dark forest for the assassins. There was no sign of them, but the three of them had no doubt the elves were there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

“We won’t make it with elves on our trail,” Viren said. He looked nervous. His magic was not nearly strong enough to go head to head with those from Xadia. In a fight, he’d be more of burden than anything else.

Sarai looked at Harrow, expression tight, controlled. He looked at her, but it didn’t dawn on him until she said, “I’ll buy you time,” softly.

“No.” Harrow said, shaking his head. “No, I won’t leave you.” He had pulled his sword out, held it ready. If they were to fall, they were going to fall together. He almost wanted the elves to attack then, so the choice would be out of his hands, so that he wouldn’t have to decide between peace and Sarai.

But, the woods were silent.

Not entirely thinking, Harrow pulled Sarai and they all started off together, but he knew it was folly. He would have to make a choice, eventually. There was no way the elves would just let them go. And, once they were at the lodge, then what? They had no way to contact the castle. Harrow ran, but it felt like he was before a large stone wall and there was no way to move forward.

Behind him, where he couldn’t see, Viren and Sarai communicated without speaking. She slowed down, stopped, silently. She looked at Harrow’s back and nodded. Viren understood, and kept pace with Harrow, who didn’t even notice that Sarai had decided to stand their ground.

Preoccupied with wanting to make the right choice, Harrow didn’t even realize it was taken out of his hands.

Harrow didn’t notice until they were at the lodge. He looked behind him, and his face fell as he realized. He turned to run back into the woods, to save her, but Viren stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Get out of the way, Viren,” Harrow said tersely, “I’m not leaving her.”

“She has the best chance of making it out alive,” Viren said evenly. “Or, making it back to the castle to get help, or—”

“They’ll kill her!” Harrow exploded. “I’m not going to just let her die!” He was searching the woods for any sign of movement, but he didn’t even know how far back she had left, or if she had led them off or—or—

He walked over to the door of the lodge, slammed a fist on the wall next to it. He felt so frustrated. This was a mistake, this was all a mistake and he should never have asked her to come, he never should have left the castle.

“This is all your fault,” Harrow said. Viren heard him, because it was just the two of them under the stars. His face fell, but he did not say anything. Maybe he even agreed.

“We should head inside.” Viren said, pushing open the door. After one last look at the dark shape of the trees, Harrow walked in after him.

The lodge was devoid of people, which was good, but that meant Harrow had to be the one to decide what to do, how to proceed. And, given that all the choices he’d made as of late had been wrong, it was not giving him peace.

He decided. “We wait til dawn. If she—” Harrow couldn’t quite get it out. “She’s—she’ll come here.” He finished, stumbling.

Harrow paced around the main hall as Viren sat at the table in the middle of the room, head in his hands. He wondered if Viren truly felt guilt, or if it was just an elaborate show he put on. Still feeling too anxious to sit down, Harrow continued to pace, and when that no longer helped, he found a dagger in need of sharpening and got to work.

They must have sat there in the dark for an hour before they heard it.

“Prince Harrow!”

It was unmistakably Sarai’s voice. Harrow stopped breathing for a moment, listening. Viren, too, was knocked out of his deep thought. He creeped over to the window, slowly. He had always been better at stealth than Harrow, despite his larger frame, but it was also still dark enough out that it wasn’t likely he would be seen.

“She’s alive,” Viren said, voice barely above a whisper. “Elves,” he added slowly. He turned to look at Harrow, waiting for him to say something so that he could argue.

But, Harrow didn’t say anything, just started to make his way to the door. If it was his life for Sarai’s, then that was an easier choice than he could have hoped for. He was a prince, he was not supposed to be scared of death. The fact that his breathes became shorter, shallower, was not something he could stop to think about. Sarai needed him.

Viren dashed to the door, stood before it. “Don’t do this.” He said urgently. Harrow stopped before him, waited for Viren to move before he tried to move him. “Harrow, you’re the prince, she’s—”

“Get out of the way, Viren,” Harrow said tightly. He wanted to say something harsher, but he found it hard enough to not shove Viren out of the way.

“Listen to me—” Viren started, but Harrow grabbed him by the collar and shoved him against the nearest wall. He pulled the dagger he had spent the last few hours sharpening out and stabbed it against the wall, pining Viren’s tunic against it. It held. Viren tugged, protested.

Harrow towards the dragon egg, still hidden in his pack. “If it comes down to it, don’t let them have it,” he said, “they’ll take it and kill you anyways. As long as it’s hidden, you have a chance.” Harrow didn’t want to think ahead. It was all catching up to him. He realized he was scared.

Scared to waste another minute, he walked out into the night. There was one elf, Sarai standing before him. The elf had an arrow trained at her back, far enough that he could let it fly before she reached him.

Harrow approached, head held high. He avoided looking at Sarai. As much as he wanted to say something to her, anything before the end, he didn’t think he could get it out and remain in control of himself.

Sarai, too, looked straight ahead. As he got closer, he saw the bruise of her cheeks. She had fought, until the end. It made Harrow angry, guilty. She could have so easily died, and it would have been his fault.

“Prince Harrow,” the elf said when he deemed Harrow close enough.

Harrow didn’t want to talk to him, he wanted more than anything to walk over and hold Sarai. But, he realized he might never get to do that again, and that made him more angry than scared. “Let her go,” he ordered, as if he was in control. The elf shot him a curious look. “You’re here to kill my father, right? To deliver justice? Well, I share the burden of the crown. I will take his place.”

“You say that as if you have a choice.” Harrow looked at the elf, and the elf looked back. He looked at Harrow with a curious expression. “You think it is right to die for him, but do you even know his crimes? Do you know what your people did to the dragon prince?”

Harrow did, but he wasn’t going to let it show. He didn’t think the elf would let them live even if he knew the egg was whole. They’d take it, slaughter all three of them anyways, and start a war in the process. At least, this way, there was still a slim hope for peace. “I share the burden of the crown. Deliver your justice.” His voice didn’t shake. He was proud.

“A dragon king for a human prince is not a fair trade. But, it is justice.”

The elf shifted slightly, and Harrow barely had time to think of the end, but Sarai was ready, she saw the shift in his face, felt, rather than saw, the elf draw back to fire, and moved. She turned, and the arrow found its home in the armor at her shoulder rather than the soft flesh of Harrow’s heart. Before the elf could notch another arrow, she drove a gloved fist into his face. And then another. And another.

He was lying unconscious before Harrow could remember how to breathe. Sarai turned to look at him, and he looked at her, and she was worse for the wear, but she was alive—she was alive—and he was alive, and he felt such relief. A thick knot formed in his throat as he looked at her. She walked over, embraced him, and they just held each other. There was nothing they could say.

Sarai dealt with the elf, although they’d have to figure out a more permanent solution, while Harrow walked back into the lodge. He wasn’t exactly quiet, but Viren didn’t react when the door opened. His back was to him, and he wasn’t moving. Harrow worried, for a moment, but then Viren slowly turned to look at him. His eyes widened in realization, and he scrambled to his feet, ran over to Harrow, and wrapped him in a hug. Harrow was startled but returned it. They were all happy to be alive.

Sarai walked in on them like that, and offered a “Am I interrupting something, boys?” She sounded like herself, but Harrow could tell she was shaken. He wanted to walk over and hold her, but he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” Viren said, finally giving Harrow his space back. He kept one hand on Harrow’s shoulder. Harrow tried to offer a smile but he wasn't feeling generous enough to let Viren get away with it that easily.

But, there would be time for that later, once the sun rose.


	2. to die alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our very smart trio takes a moment to rest but it turns out things keep happening which is rude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah yes the sweet smell of daddy issues faslkfjs;dlfk KIDDING also i know this took me forever and a half but the entire fic is about done so i'll probably finish it up this month

They decided to wait until dawn to make their next move. They had to figure out how to deal with their elf prisoner and wait out any other elves that might still be lurking in the shadows of the woods.

After the shock of what had happened had faded—and the sheer joy of all of them being alive—Harrow began to shift awkwardly. He would look at Sarai, but he couldn’t bring himself to say the words he wanted to put out. Viren caught on after the third time Harrow tried opening his mouth to speak.

“I’m going to keep an eye on our new friend,” Viren said, interrupting the silence and stretching as he stood. He held up the dagger Harrow had pinned him to the wall with. “Mind if I borrow this?” He asked, only half seriously.

“You sure you know how to use it?” Harrow tossed back, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to add a smile, so it came out harsher than he intended. Viren rolled his eyes and walked into the room where the elf was bound, closing the door behind him.

Sarai turned slowly to look at Harrow, and he looked at her, but neither of them said anything for a good couple of minutes. Harrow tapped his fingers impatiently against his leg, gathering up the strength to say what he needed to.

“Say it. I know you want to,” Sarai finally said, bringing a hand up to rub at her tired eyes.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Harrow said without thinking, surprised the words he had been struggling to say came out so easily.

“I knew you’d say that.” She muttered, turning to look at him. Her expression was somewhere between frustration and relief, a confusing mixture. “I knew you’d be upset that I tried to save your life. Tell me, though, why did you bring me along? To simply watch as you paid for Viren’s mistakes?”

“I never wanted you to get hurt,” Harrow tried, tackling the issue from another perspective, “I—I don’t know. I didn’t think about how dangerous this would be,” he said. He felt frustrated, clumsy. He couldn’t quite figure out the complexity of what he was feeling and that just made him feel worse.

“I did, Harrow,” Sarai said, “I knew exactly what you were asking of me, and I came anyways, because I love you, and because I have a duty to the crown.” She sat a little straighter as she turned towards him. She looked tired, worse for the wear, but she also looked firm, unshakable. Harrow was always in awe of her strength, and now was no exception.

“No,” Harrow said, “don’t start with ‘duty,’ Sarai. I could never live with myself if anything happened to you because of me.”

Sarai sighed, closed her eyes for a moment. “Harrow—” She started.

“I know! I know, I’m the prince, and you feel like you have to do this, but I—I could never ask you to. I would never want you to. Duty or not.” He tried his best to meet her eyes as he spoke.

Sarai looked at him wearily. “I wish things worked the way you think they do,” she said, softly, after a moment. She got up, sat next to him. He wrapped an arm around her, planted a kiss on her forehead.

“I love you,” he said, simply.

“I love you, too,” she said, placing her head against his chest.

The conversation wasn't over, and they both knew that, but they were alive right now, and that was enough. Harrow could almost forget their problem in the other room, forget the last few hours, if it meant he could find peace in this quiet moment.

* * *

 Viren closed the door softly behind him, leaving Harrow and Sarai to sort out their own personal messes. He had opinions, of course, but he knew he couldn’t say anything without Sarai bringing up that this was his fault to start off, and, well, he didn’t like feeling guilty. So, like the wise coward he was, he would keep his opinions to himself.

The elf did not look up as Viren walked in. He was bound with his hands stretched out behind him, wrapped around one of the pillars that went up to the roof. Viren did not for a second doubt that Sarai's knots could to hold him.

There were no chairs in this room, so Viren hopped up on the table directly in front of the elf, who didn't look up. For once, Viren was on the receiving end of that particular little mannerism. He didn't like it.

“So,” Viren started, not expecting much in return, “want to tell me how many of your friends are in the woods?” Like he thought, the elf said nothing. Viren nodded as if he had gotten a response, then tried a couple more questions that likewise didn’t get answers.

Viren wanted to look serious, focused, but he grew bored.  He began fiddling with the dagger he held, at first, simply passing it from one hand back to the other, but then, more ambitiously, he tossed it up with one hand and caught it with the other. He did it three times successfully, but on the fourth, he miscalculated and caught the blade in his fingers, rather than the hilt. It dug into him, shallowly, but enough to draw a little blood. He stuck his finger in his mouth as he frowned.

“You're not very threatening,” the elf said. He still did not look up, but it was loud enough to be unmistakable.

“I know someone who can do it better,” Viren replied, ignoring the elf’s slight. “But, we’re not in the best place right now. She’s mad at me, but she's angrier at you for trying to kill her, which I shouldn't say thank you for, but,” Viren trailed off and shrugged. “So, what's your name?” He tried, thinking maybe this time he could make some progress.

The elf went back to brooding silently.

“Yeah, I didn't think that would work either.”

Viren leaned back on the table, settling against the wall behind him. Dawn wasn't too far away, and he'd rather not face Harrow and his noble sacrifice that Viren didn't want to think about, so he figured he would wait until one of the other two came to tell him what their next move was.

Despite this, the quiet got to him and Viren found himself thinking back to a few hours earlier, when he wanted nothing more than to stop Harrow from going out the door. Viren liked to think he could have stopped him. Maybe. Their friendship would not have survived that, but Harrow would have and maybe that would have been enough for Viren.

However, Harrow had walked out the door, had forced Viren into a position where he couldn't stop him, and had survived. Because of Sarai. Because she knew what she was doing. It made Viren feel jealous, that she could save their friend where Viren couldn't, where he had been the reason they had been in danger in the first place.

Viren shoved those thoughts down, deep, where he wouldn't have to think about them, at least for now.

He heard the elf shift and at him as something strange happened. One of two identical ribbons that were on the elf’s upper arm sudden grew loose and became a deep red color as it fell to the ground. The elf turned to look at it in something close to shock. He turned, and Viren caught his eye.

“What was that?” Viren asked, not really expecting an answer.

“I think you'll find out soon enough,” the elf supplied, dramatically. His expression wasn’t easy to read, but Viren could have sworn he saw something close to fear there. Maybe a hint of resignation, too? Viren was never very good at reading people.

He stayed for a while longer, eye on the matching ribbon on the elf's other side. It remained white, taunt. Viren started to believe it was magic of some kind, which he would never understand without doing research in the castle's library, so he hopped off the table and went back to the other room, thinking maybe it was time to ask his friends for their opinions.

* * *

 Dawn was only a couple of minutes away as Viren came back into the room. Harrow and Sarai were still holding each other, Sarai snoring lightly while Harrow considered all their options, tried to think through where each other them would take them. They could stay here, bring the elf back to the castle, maybe get some information out of him. But, that meant they wouldn’t take the egg back to where it belonged. Harrow had half a mind to just do that, though, maybe find some way to bring the egg to the king’s attention without throwing the blame at Viren. However, that would be the simple way out. It would feel tantamount to a failure. They barely made it outside the castle walls. They almost died.

It was frustrating, that all the decisions he had made so far had been wrong. Stay at the castle, follow the shadows, take the egg back, bring Sarai, run in the woods, step outside. Things he had thought through, and things he hadn’t. Although his friends were alive, he felt that he was failing them. Harrow didn’t think he could survive losing either of them, let alone both of them.

And, he decided right then and there that he wouldn’t. It wasn’t as simple as that, but in that moment, it truly felt that way.

Harrow heard Viren step back in the room, and just as he turned to look at him, he heard the sound of distant bells.

For a second, he didn't understand. Viren, too, paused, tilted his head. His brow furrowed, as the bells kept tolling.

Then, Harrow remembered. It all clicked into place, the scattering of loose parts pulled taunt, forming the whole.

One. If the king had wanted to send his son away, it meant he knew the assassins were coming. It meant they had lost the element of surprise. The crownguard would be prepared for them, could even send for reinforcements. But, if the elves attacked before they were expected, they would sacrifice the full moon for the element of surprise. Had they planned it carefully, they could have struck when the king was still unprepared, momentarily off balance.

Two. They were assassins, and their strength was never in numbers. If one of them split off to chase a prince, far from the castle and with meager reinforcements, that, too, could be a calculated move.

Three. The elves did not have nearly as much to lose.

Four. It could work.

And the sound of the bells? It was the same sound Harrow had heard after losing his mother. It marked a death in the royal family.

Harrow felt all the air escape his lungs. The king was dead. His father was dead.

_My father is dead._

He felt something close to panic, felt his breath come in short gasps, and Sarai noticed this, woke up suddenly, blinking.

“What's wrong?” She asked, because the bells had stopped. It was silent once more.

“The king is dead,” Viren said, because he knew Harrow wouldn't. And, he was right. Harrow couldn't speak. He could barely remember how to breathe.

Sarai didn't say anything, she just looked at Harrow. He couldn't look at her, or at Viren. He could only try to hold back his—was it fear? Grief? A painful mixture of both? Harrow couldn't tell. It felt like he was drowning. Sarai was calling his name, distantly. He felt her get up, give him a little space, and he didn’t protest. He was struggling not to show his pain. He was the prince—no, not anymore. He was to be king.  

“We have to go back,” she said gravely. Harrow remembered how she said she had a duty to the crown. He couldn't even find it in himself to be hurt by her approach, because it would be so easy to listen to her. To go back. To go _home._

He expected Viren to agree, both of them to talk him into going back. Instead, Viren let out a tentative, “Harrow?” As if knew he was approaching a fuse with a lit match. If only he knew.

“I'm going to kill him,” Harrow said, simply. He stood, grabbed the dagger out of Viren's hands before he could protest, and headed to the other room.

The elf flinched when Harrow threw the door open, but said nothing as Harrow got closer, put the blade to his throat. Behind him, both Sarai and Viren followed. He could hear their footsteps, them standing hesitantly a few feet behind him. They wouldn't stop him. He didn’t know if he wanted them to.

“The king is dead,” the elf said, softly, “finish this,” he added, eyes turning to look directly at Harrow. There was fear there, maybe, or maybe it was just Harrow looking for any excuse not to do this. Part of him wanted to but—

He had never killed someone before. His hand was shaking. There were a few moments of silence, as he decided. As much as he didn’t want it to, the struggle showed on his face. The elf, in contrast, did not waver. Harrow hated him for it. He pulled back, standing in front of the elf.

“The binding,” Viren said, suddenly, and Harrow turned with a look of confusion. The distraction was enough to bring him back to reality.

Viren looked at Sarai, then at Harrow, then walked over to where the red binding rested. “This fell off a couple of minutes ago. It must've been when…” Viren trailed off, tried not to look at Harrow. “But, he has another, exactly the same, different arm.” Viren pointed.

“Two targets?” Sarai supplied. “The king and—”

“His son,” Harrow finished. He held tightly to the dagger which was now at lowered at his side. “For the dragon king and the dragon prince. Justice.” Harrow looked at Viren with thinly veiled anger. “Justice.” He said again. “I won't kill you.” Harrow said to the elf, who was once again looking at the ground. “I want to,” he admitted, “but, it wouldn’t be justice.” He got up, walked back out the door. Sarai shared a concerned look with Viren, and they followed him out. The elf said nothing.

Harrow collapsed heavily on a chair, leaned forward to place his head in his hands. “We're not going back,” he said once the door was closed. “Not yet. There won't be a coronation until after seven days have passed. We'll be back by then.” Harrow glanced at the window, where dawn only a few moments away, “and if we’re not, they can wait.”

“Harrow, I—” Viren started, but Harrow turned to look at him with such anger he stopped. “I'm sorry,” he said, because he needed to get it out there, more than anything else. He decided to hold his tongue, aware that his opinions weren’t going to be worth much for the time being.

“We should head out,” Harrow said again, ignoring him.

“Harrow, I know that you feel—” Sarai tried, but Harrow also stopped her with a harsh look. Then, realizing his error, his expression crumbled, he covered his face with his hands. If he cried, it was silently. When he looked at them again, he looked tired, weary. It wasn’t hard to see how quickly he had aged, having the world placed on his shoulders in only a matter of minutes.

“Once I become—” Harrow stopped, swallowed the lump in his throat, “right now, we have a slim chance of travelling faster than the politics of what we're going to do. Right now, they would simply accept that we're doing the right thing with no strings attached. Right now, it looks like justice,” Harrow explained, gently. Like he was begging them to accept his reasoning.

Because he could never admit how scared he was to take the crown, to return to the castle and learn about his father's final moments. To know the consequences. It was painful enough to just consider, let alone live through. He needed time. And, he wanted to make things right. He thought everything would be easier, then.  

Sarai and Viren looked at each other, and then looked back at Harrow. They nodded.

“We’ll still need to deal with him,” Sarai said, dancing around the implication.

They shared an awkward look.

“If we leave him here, whoever they send to get us can deal with him. It doesn’t have to be our problem.” Sarai added, breaking the silence.

Harrow thought about it. He didn’t know if any of the other assassins had survived, but if they didn’t, and his elf was found here, what would his people do to him? They had just lost their king, would be plunged into relative instability before Harrow could return. An angry mob does not think and considers consequences even less. Harrow didn’t like where this line of thinking took him. He knew what war could do to people, and he didn’t want that on his hands. It was a lot to decide, so early.

“I can deal with him,” Viren said suddenly.

“Really? You can kill him?” Sarai said skeptically.

“What? No!” Viren shot back defensively. He huffed. “Clearly, we don’t want to leave him here at the mercy of someone else. Especially if we don’t know who finds him. I’ll knock him out, we’ll leave him without weapons, and he can find his own way home. Simple.”

“I’m surprised. You finally contributed.” Sarai said and Viren scowled. She seemed to be digging into him for Harrow’s benefit, more than anyone else’s. She could already tell she was losing the boy he was just yesterday, and she would do anything to save his smile.

“Just do it,” Harrow said, wearily. Sarai and Viren shared another look before Viren turned to deal with their most recent problem.

* * *

 “You told me I wasn’t very threatening,” Viren said as soon as he was back with the elf, “you’re probably right.”

He flung the dagger into the wood less than an inch above the elf’s head, right between the horns. It stuck. The elf’s stoic expression slipped as his eyes widened. Just a little. It was enough.

“You seem smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to escape when you wake up.”

“When I what—”

Viren had a couple of steps to set it up, which was probably overkill, but he had never knocked anyone out with one hit before, and well, he couldn’t even pretend he didn't enjoy it.

* * *

They took the boat and the river, thinking they could make up for any time they’d lost. The current was strong, swift, and there wasn't too much turbulence. Even though the sun was shining down on them, by now, Harrow felt his eyelids grow heavy. Sarai and Viren, who were sitting side by side opposite him, watched as he slowly nodded off, head drooping into his chest. Soon enough, he was snoring.

Sarai reached over across the water and picked up a branch that was floating. She shook the water off of it and threw it at Harrow. He kept snoring.

“Do I want to know how you knew that wouldn't wake him?” Viren asked, and Sarai smiled.

“You probably wouldn't like the answer,” she said. Viren agreed with a soft hum. “I'm worried about him,” she said, because as much as she hated confiding in Viren, they were heading towards dangerous territory, in more ways than one. Sarai knew Harrow struggled with leadership, with trusting himself to make the right decisions. This mission was a chance to prove himself, among a lot of other things. It was an unstable time.

“Would you believe me if I said I was, too?” Viren said, trying to keep his expression under control. Sarai knew he loved Harrow like a brother. Maybe something more.

“Maybe. If you weren't the reason we were doing this.” Sarai said.

Viren was silent for a second, thinking. “I know you think badly of me for taking the egg.” Sarai didn't go for the easy jab about her never thinking much of him anyways. “I think you deserve a reason. One of many.” Viren sighed, shifted. “Dragons are powerful, and their eggs are rare. Yes, it was cruel, what I did. You could even call it wrong. You surely had no problem with that. But, I wasn't thinking of what you or anyone else would think of me. I was thinking that a sword does not stop being a sword in someone else's hands.”

Sarai looked at him, trying to turn his reason over in her mind before passing judgement. “It's an egg, Viren. It's going to become a thinking being. You can't compare the two,” Sarai decided, although she was starting to understand where he was going.

“Perhaps.” Viren shrugged. “One of many, I said.” He added, a little quickly.

Sarai wanted to laugh. Leave it to Viren to do something so drastic without consulting anyone, and then scramble to find justification.

“Well, it's not me you'll have to answer to. Not even the dragons, probably.” Sarai nodded towards Harrow, who was still sleeping peacefully. “You think he's ever going to forgive you, if we survive this?”

Viren's expression darkened as he thought that through. He must have reached the right conclusion, because he didn't say it out loud.

“Yeah, me too,” Sarai said, gently. As much as she didn’t like him, she couldn’t bring herself to make light of this. “Make sure we don't go over any waterfalls, yeah?” She said, going over and snuggling into Harrow's side. Viren watched it with thinly veiled jealousy.

* * *

They traveled along the river for the better part of the day, Viren watching the sky and the heavy, dark approaching clouds as his friends slept. He thought it would just be gloomy, maybe cold, but as it became evident that it would rain, he woke Harrow and Sarai up, and they decided to find somewhere they could sit out the rain. None of them were really dressed to march on with soaked clothes.

It was easier said than done. They’d all been out of the castle walls before, but none of them were experts with this terrain, and they were soaked by the time they found shelter in a cave a little ways away from the river. They didn’t want to stray too far, because the water was still the fastest method of transportation they had.

Harrow went out to get some branches, so they could make a fire, but everything was wet. He threw the meager pile he had gathered in the middle of the cave. He looked sad, in a way that was more like his old self than he had been this morning.

“We could just cuddle for warmth,” Viren said.

“Not helping, Viren,” Harrow said miserably.

“I can try to light it, but I can’t promise it’ll burn,” Viren said with a shrug. Harrow raised an eyebrow. “Dark magic,” Viren supplied, dramatically.

Harrow conceded, waving Viren along. He didn’t really want to spend the night cold and wet. He looked at Sarai, but she said nothing, and they both looked at Viren, who was rummaging around his pack. Finally, he found a bottle of something which looked like it had been dead for quite some time. He dropped it into his hand, and then looked back up.

“I’ve never actually tried this spell before, so if I catch on fire can you at least give me a decent funeral?” He said, with a lopsided smirk. Harrow couldn’t help it, he smiled too.

“No,” Sarai said with a neutral expression, but then she too, smiled.

Viren closed his eyes, focused. Harrow watched, a little intrigued. He had never seen dark magic before. The way Sarai was leaning forward, he didn’t think she had either.

Words came out of Viren’s mouth which didn’t sound like any language Harrow had heard before, and when Viren opened his eyes, they were completely dark. In the relative shadows of the cave, they even looked to be glowing.

Viren’s hand closed tightly around what he held and it, too, began to glow, as he ended the spell. Then, light appeared. Viren opened his hand and a small flame danced on his palm. He tossed it into the fire as if he was tossing a rock.

At first, there was only steam, but then one twig caught on and eventually, there was a small but surviving fire. Viren sagged as his eyes returned to their normal color. He almost smiled, relieved, but then he looked up at Harrow and—

Harrow was horrified. His mouth hung open, as he looked at Viren, shocked. He had never seen dark magic before. He had no idea that was the price.

Viren didn’t say anything, just turned back to the small fire between them. Was it the light, or did he grow redder?

Sarai composed herself first. “Thanks,” she said, as if the last few awkward minutes hadn’t happened. That knocked Harrow out of his shock. He cleared his throat, shifted.

He wanted to say something along those lines as well, but all he managed was a weak, “Does it hurt?” that threw Viren off.

“No,” Viren said, almost defensively, “it’s like….” He thought about it. “goosebumps.”

Harrow nodded, tried to get the image out of his head. “Is all magic like that?” He asked, more out of a need to fill the silence than care about the answer.

Viren shook his head, then stopped. Shrugged. “Dark magic is supposed to be like that, but I’m not sure about the ones that use primal sources.” He shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. He yawned loudly, stretched. Crossed his arms and settled against the wall.

Harrow realized suddenly that this was probably the first time Viren had slept since they left the castle. But, had that only been a day ago? It felt like longer. He didn’t feel like the same person.

They continued travelling on the river the next day, and made good time, but soon enough they ran into a problem. They were travelling north, and the winter ice had not yet melted. They were forced to leave the river and make the rest of the trek on foot.

Harrow knew these lands, as he had been down this path before, once or twice with his father. There was a town up ahead, where they could spend the night, and start fresh in the morning. Viren and Sarai were too tired to disagree, and they made their way there. Night was falling as they finally entered the small grouping of buildings which called itself a town.

“I’ll get us somewhere to stay,” Harrow said, outside a building that appeared to be an inn. “Wait out here,” he added, flashing a reassuring smile.

Everything was quiet, until a man stumbled out of the building adjacent. And, of course, stumbled right into Viren.

“Say you’re sorry,” the man said, despite Viren’s incredulous look. Viren wasn’t shorter than him by much, but the man was larger, stronger, and worst of all, deeply intoxicated. Viren just glared at him, hoping to get him to just go away by not giving him the satisfaction.

The man scoffed, but left, and they would have all been glad to have left it at that, but then the man had to make a comment and well. Viren never liked to think before he acted.

He grabbed the man’s shoulder, spun him back, and clocked him right in the face. The man stumbled but did not fall. He looked at Viren, who had the good grace to look surprised at the actions he had taken.

“You’re dead, kid.”

Sarai was content enough to let Viren sort out his own mess, but it looked like the man had friends, and, well, _she_ had always been a fan of a fair fight.

By the time Harrow walked back out, looking a bit pleased with himself, Viren and Sarai had collapsed against the entrance, sitting on some overturned barrels. Sarai had only bruised knuckles, but Viren had the start of a black eye and a bloody lip. Despite that, they were both _smiling_.

“Do I want to know what happened?” Harrow asked, helping his friends get to their feet.

“Man—” Viren started, still out of breath.

“Big.” Sarai continued, using her hands to show just how big. “But we won.”

“I think,” Viren said, bending over to let out a cough. “Not entirely sure.”

Harrow grabbed a large chunk of ice off the floor and handed it to Viren, who gratefully put it up to his swelling eye. Then, they stumbled into the room Harrow had acquired.

“Harrow?” Viren said, putting down the ice so he could get a good look with both eyes.

“Yes, Viren?” Harrow asked, a little too innocently.

“There’s only one bed.” Viren finished, dejectedly.

“I can see that, Viren.” Harrow said.

Viren sighed, accepting defeat and collapsing in the nearest chair.

Sarai, for her part, did not hesitate to claim the bed.

Harrow looked between them, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’s wrong?” Sarai asked, because she knew him too well.

“There’s something I have to do.” Harrow said, evasively. He looked down at his feet, shifted his stance again, and then sighed. “We have an outpost out here. They might have. . .news.” Harrow didn’t have to specify news of what, all three of them knew. It hung unspoken between them.

“I’ll go with you,” Sarai and Viren said at the same time, and then looked at each other. Harrow glanced warmly at both of them, managing a small smile despite how he felt.

“No, I—” he started, “I can do this alone.”

“You don’t have to,” Sarai said softly, standing, but not moving towards him.

Harrow looked at her, for a moment considering it. To ask them to come would be easy, so easy. But—but then it would be easier to turn back. To walk up to the outpost, tell them who he was, go home.

It would be too easy.

“I’ll be back soon enough,” he said. “Stay out of trouble,” he added, but his smile dropped as he sobered.

A couple of seconds after Harrow had walked out, Viren turned to Sarai. “You should follow him.”

Sarai just looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You know, make sure he’s okay. That he doesn’t do anything, well—”

“Anything you would do, Viren?” She said, with a bit of an edge.

“That’s not how I meant it, Sarai,” Viren tried to amend, earnestly, but Sarai just waved him off. She sagged a little.

“I understand what he’s thinking,” she said softly, “I would love to just hold him close but,” she paused, thinking. “We have to give him space, just as much as be there for him. We have to trust him.” She finished, offering Viren half of a smile.

Viren relented. The ice he held to his face was rapidly melting, so he just dropped it on the ground next to him rather than let it soak him. “You know, I haven’t said thank you for helping me back there. So, thank you.”

“You know I love an unfair fight,” she tossed back, stretching across the bed. She yawned, settled. Viren brought his chair next to the window, figuring that at least one of them should keep a watch.

They didn’t know what lurked in the shadows.

* * *

Harrow walked to the outpost, his pace a little brisk, but he could blame that on the cold, not on his nerves. He could also blame his shivering on the cold, too. He would blame everything on the weather, rather than admit he was scared.

He could never say it out loud, but he didn’t want to know.

He wanted to pretend that it was a trick, that the elf had been wrong, that there were a million other reasons, that he’d go home, and everything would return to normal.

He wanted to hold onto that lie—to that _hope_ —for as long as possible.

But, he also knew, if he had a chance, he had to be certain. He had to be sure of what he would return to, of what was waiting for him back home. A part of him wanted to run, to escape the threat of the crown, the threat of leadership, but another part of him was already tired of living with the anxiety of uncertainty.

He had to know.

The path to the outpost was marked well although it was some ways away in the woods, and Harrow finally came upon the modest structure. It was a garrison, held some soldiers should the kingdom face an unexpected attack from the north. As far as Harrow knew, no such thing had ever happened.

He was soon close enough to see the flickering light of the torches the guards on watch held, to hear bits and pieces of their conversation. They did not see him.

And, when was about to expose himself to them, to learn the truth, he turned on his heel.

And kept walking.

He did not stop until he was back in the outskirts of the town, and he would have been surprised to have made it back in the darkness, but he was too busy being consumed by guilt and fear.

Distantly, he realized he had no way of proving he was who he said he was. A soon-to-be king without a crown, a prince without a king, a boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Distantly, he realized he should have left a note at the lodge, not that it would matter much anymore.

He sat down on a boulder that was next to a small stream that struggling to stay unfrozen in the cold night. Harrow could hear it more than see it.

He sat, and found a knot in his throat, and soon enough began to cry.

_It isn’t fair,_ he thought, because it wasn’t. Sure, he wasn’t a child anymore, but he was not ready for the crown, not ready to take his father’s place and face the possibility of even more threats on his life. He and his father were never very close but—

But, that didn’t stop Harrow from crying for him.

He remembered once, when he was still a child, and his father was going out to fight some battle or another, and he had called Harrow in to help him put on his armor.

“We have a duty as kings,” his father had said in the privacy of his quarters, guards sent out so that it was only him and Harrow in the room. “We can bleed, and we can fall,” he had paused, and Harrow had looked up at him, wondering what was forbidden. “But, we cannot show fear.” His father had finished, face set in a grim line, seemingly acting upon the words he had just spoken.

“What if I am scared?” Harrow had asked, because it was not often he got to talk to his father in private, but he has always allowed to speak his mind. “What if I don’t think I can do what they ask of me?” He looked down, thinking of how awful it would be, how lonely, to not allow anyone comfort him.

The king had lifted his chin with his hand. “That is when you can least afford to be scared.” He had said. Harrow had looked at him with wide eyes, not understanding. “Better to die a king, than live as a coward.” He had said, with a certain determination, a stony resignation behind his eyes.

Harrow continued with the endless buttons and latches, as his father continued.

“To die then, there, without breaking? That would be the highest honor earned by any man.” He said, with a hint of envy in his tone that Harrow had not recognized as such at the time. He had tried working faster, wanting nothing more than to leave the room and not think about such things, but he found his hands couldn’t remain steady, and he had to work slowly so that his father would not notice.

He didn’t, lost in his own thoughts, no doubt dreaming of this glorious death in battle. Already imagining the heroic passages they would write about him in the history books, if he were to meet such an end.

_What if I die alone?_ Harrow wanted to ask, but was afraid to. _Am I allowed to be scared then?_

More importantly, _What if I don’t want to die alone?_

He never got the chance to ask, and now he never would.

* * *

By the time he made it back to the inn, he felt nothing but a deep weariness—he could almost feel it in his bones—and he wanted nothing more than to collapse into the warm cot, let his struggles fade away in the night.

Viren was awake when Harrow came in, and as much as Harrow wanted to rest, he walked over to his friend, stationed by the window.

“I thought we should keep watch,” Viren said. Now that Harrow was closer, he noticed his friend’s eyelids were dropping. Viren leaned his head against the wall, stifling a yawn. Harrow reached for the other chair in the room, took a place next to him.

“Harrow,” Viren started, turning towards his friend, “I haven’t said that I—I’m sorry. I am so sorry.”

“Viren—” Harrow started, because it was too much tonight.

“No, I—” Viren started, catching Harrow’s tone and having the good graces to look guilty. “I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Harrow buried his head in his hands.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said softly. “I didn’t want to know.”

Viren said nothing, but it was clear he understood. He reached out, but caught himself. He did not have the comfort of touch that came so easily between Harrow and Sarai. Viren pulled his hand back before Harrow could see.

“I want to say all is forgiven, Viren, because if I had been in the castle, I would probably be dead, but,” Harrow sighed, looked up, “I need time.”

Viren looked hurt, but he swallowed and nodded. He understood.

“You’re still my best friend. I know you’d be by my side through anything.” Harrow offered, but he was tired, and he was once again stumbling over the right words. He’d be okay, he wanted to say, they’d be okay, but it wouldn’t happen after a couple of days. It would take time.

Viren nodded again, cleared his throat. “I’ll—”

“I’ll keep watch,” Harrow interrupted. “Get some rest.” It was all he could offer at the moment.

Viren was known to argue, but he simply nodded once again and stood. He stretched, looking at Sarai sleeping peacefully on the cot. He looked back at Harrow, then grabbed some furs and laid down on the floor. He must have figured the ground was a better alternative to whatever Sarai could do to him.

Harrow leaned his head against the window pane as he looked at the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey at least it wasn't a cliffhanger


	3. in the name of justice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a night in the woods turns into something a little more fun

Sarai woke up with a yawn. She blinked at the ceiling, at the small rays of sunlight peaking in through the window and illuminating the space above her. She stretched as she sat up, yawned as quietly as she could manage. She looked down, seeing the lower half of Viren on the ground. She could have felt guilty at that, but she didn’t.

She had expected to wake up next to Harrow, but he was asleep by the window instead. He was positioned uncomfortably between the wall and the chair, but he was snoring nonetheless.

Sarai got up, slowly made her way to him. She figured she’d at least offer him the bed, for the few hours it’d take for the morning to be in full swing. It was barely past dawn, and the room was illuminated by the pale dawn light.

Harrow jerked awake when she shook him, looked around, disoriented. He mumbled something incomprehensible and then rubbed at his eyes. He stretched and yawned as Sarai went back to the cot to pull her shoes on.

“You can take the bed,” she said, quietly, “I’m going to go get some supplies while we’re still here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Harrow said sleepily, standing. He rubbed at his neck, grimacing in pain.

“Should we bring Viren?” Sarai asked, looking skeptically down at the lump on the ground.

“I don’t think we can,” Harrow said, tossing a pillow from the cot onto Viren. He shifted but did not wake up and Harrow and Sarai looked at each other and shrugged. Harrow placed the pack with the egg next to Viren, deciding that would be safer than carrying it around. Viren, still asleep, curled an arm protectively around it, and Harrow smiled at the sight.

He and Sarai walked out together.

As they walked, the sun rose higher, Harrow’s fingers found their way into Sarai’s hand, and they held onto each other. They didn’t say anything, either it was too early for conversation or they were both too tired for anything coherent enough, but it was a comfortable silence that enveloped them.

Sarai misjudged a patch of ice, for a moment lost her footing, and Harrow pulled her close out of reflex. He held onto her tightly, just a hair’s width away from her face. He looked down at her, and she looked up at him.

“Let’s run away together,” Harrow said suddenly, without thinking.

Sarai let out a short laugh. “What?” She asked incredulously. They were still chest to chest. Sarai’s smile dropped as she saw the expression on Harrow’s face. “Harrow, are you serious?” One of her hands was still holding onto his, but she brought the other one up to rest on his chest.

“Last night I—I couldn’t. I still don’t know,” Harrow said, looking anywhere but at Sarai. “Well, I mean, I do, but still I—I didn’t want to.” He let go of her, took a step back, and rubbed at the back of his neck. Heat crept up his cheeks. Sarai brought his hand up, planted a small kiss on the back side of it. He swallowed a lump on his throat as he continued. “This world, this kingdom, it’s already taken so much from me. I don’t want it to take you, too,” he finished softly.

“I’ll think about it,” Sarai replied quietly, looking down at their intertwined fingers. “But, Harrow, you’ll never lose me.” She smiled up at him, took a deep breath, tried her best to be reassuring, “And, for better or for worse, you’ll always have Viren.”

Harrow closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. He felt foolish for asking. He felt wrong for even making her consider it, when she had a family and a sister, and he just wanted to pick a direction and keep walking. He put on a fake smile he knew she would see through, agreed, and they moved on. He tried to pretend the conversation would just fade away, but he wasn’t nearly so naïve.

Viren was still asleep by the time they returned, and Sarai didn’t even feel guilty when she tripped over him and he finally woke up, with a loud and dramatic groan. He lifted Harrow’s pack, confused, and Harrow simply walked over and plucked it out of his hands.

“We’re leaving, Viren,” Harrow said. “And, good morning to you, too.” He added, offering him a hand so that he could lift himself up.

“The floor of an inn is only slightly better than the floor of the forest,” Viren said informatively, glaring at Sarai. She shot him a wink and he fumed.

“If we take another stop at a town, you can have the bed,” she said, even though they both knew how unlikely that would be. They were a few days from the border, but the most direct path wouldn’t take anywhere near another town. Viren made faces at her.

They walked for the better part of the day, choosing a small clearing to settle in for the night. It was still cold, but the rain hadn’t come back, so this time they were able to easily make a fire. Harrow rolled part of an overturned log next to it and took a seat. Sarai walked over and sat next to him. Once again, their hands drifted together. Viren, who had been absentmindedly tossing leaves and twigs into the fire, pretended not to notice.

“We need some more wood,” he said eventually, even though they most certainly did not. He stood regardless and chose a direction to walk off in.

Harrow let go of Sarai’s hand, wrapped that arm around her instead. He was tired of talking, of saying the wrong thing, or not saying enough. He was alive, she was alive, the fire was warm, and they were comfortable. The future was like a mountain in the distance, unavoidable, but in this moment, nothing was forcing him to think about it. He only had to think about bringing the egg back to where it belonged and worry about the aftermath later, to cross that bridge when he got there.

The sound of branches breaking pulled Harrow out of his own head, and Sarai snapped to attention as well. Harrow stood as she made her way to their weapons on the other side of the fire.

There was the unmistakable sound of Viren’s yelp, and then footsteps, coming towards the clearing. Harrow narrowed his eyes, fist clenched.

As he came into the light of the fire, Viren looked more annoyed than anything else, despite the knife at his throat.

“This is familiar,” he said dryly, trying not to betray anything, but Harrow could see his hands shaking at his sides. The elf they had encountered at the lodge stood behind him, easy to make out even though he was still half covered by shadows.

“We gave you a chance to walk away from this,” Harrow said, an edge to his voice. He held one arm out in front of him, eyes fixed on the elf. Next to him, Sarai had a sword in her hands, but there was no way she would make it before Viren was dead.

The elf adjusted his grip on Viren, and for a moment his still bound bicep was in front of his face. Viren only got a half glimpse, but it was clear that the elf’s skin should not be such a deep shade, compared to the rest of him. Viren thought about it, and the fact that the other binding had fallen off so easily.

“You can’t, can you?” Viren said, and the elf paused. Viren continued, “There’s only one way to be free from that binding, isn’t there?”

The elf said nothing, but he shifted again.

“My death?” Harrow asked, voice betraying nothing.

Sarai sighed. “You can’t be serious. There’s three of us, and one of you. Little dagger, or not.”

The elf did not back down.

“I can’t let you kill my friend.” Harrow said, and Sarai looked at him sharply.

In the tense moment that followed, the silence hung heavy between the four of them. Harrow looked at Viren, who met his eyes exactly once before looking at the space above Harrow’s head. Harrow knew he would never ask for that, but he wasn’t exactly above accepting it. Harrow watched the shame slowly creep onto his face, and he did not doubt they both wished it hadn’t come to this.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Viren said quickly, before he could think to stop himself. “If anyone has to die for this, it—”

“No,” Sarai said, interrupting loudly, “no.” She pointed at Harrow. “You’re not doing this.” Then, she pointed at the other two, “Neither are you.” She walked over to his pack. Harrow was still looking at Viren and the elf and didn’t turn to look at her. She reached into the pack, mumbling some curses and other choice words.

Harrow’s critical thinking caught up with the rest of him and he turned, let out a sharp, “Sarai!” that did not stop her.

Before he could take a step, the dragon’s egg was out in the open.

The elf was awestruck, and that gave Viren a half second window, but he was ready, and he slipped out of the elf’s grasp and quickly made his way behind Harrow.

“This is a trick,” the elf said, although there wasn’t any real weight in the accusation, “. . .it’s beautiful,” he added after a second, and the air of hostility disappeared.

Viren let out what could almost be considered a laugh, although it sounded more like a cough. “We can prove that we’re sincere. I can take off that binding.”

He stood a little taller, not betraying the fact that he wasn’t sure it was a feat he could accomplish. He had practiced as a mage, yes, but this was real Xadian magic. He wasn’t sure, but if it could prove their intentions, and, almost as importantly, if it could take a target off Harrow’s back, then it was worth an attempt. He had made a choice in the last five minutes that he could not take back, that he didn’t want to take back. Harrow had already given so much for Viren, it was his turn to give something back to his friend, and, well, this was all he could do.

The elf scoffed. “I bound my life to justice. It is my price to pay.” He said, more out of reflex than anything.

Sarai brought a hand up to rub at her temples as she moved next to Harrow. She had put the egg back in the pack, which was slung securely across her back. She knew if the elf went for it, he’d be hard-pressed to actually get his hands on it. “Look, it’s clearly hurting you, and my, well, he’s not my friend but he’s been getting dangerously close, he can help you. You’re so obsessed with justice, but how would it be fair for you to lose your arm for a crime that hasn’t even happened?” She didn’t have to look at Viren to know he was smiling at the compliment.

“Well?” Viren added, disgustingly cocky.

The elf rolled his eyes, but he dropped the dagger in the space between them and crossed his arms. That was as much an invitation as anything.

“Viren, are you sure?” Harrow asked, before he let Viren walk over. Any number of things could still go wrong, and no matter what was going on between them, he didn’t want to lose his friend.

“Definitely,” Viren said, although his expression was edging closer to panic with each passing moment.  Harrow gave him a look of concern. “It’ll be alright,” he added hastily, patting Harrow’s shoulder reassuringly before he walked over and rummaged through his pack. He settled on some other mummified remain of a magical creature. The elf’s expression didn’t change, but Harrow could have sworn a look of unease flicked across his features for a moment.

_Great,_ Harrow thought, _none of us are sure what we’re doing._

Viren walked over to the elf, who eyed him warily. “Try not to scream.” He said, leaning down so he could be at eye level with the binding. He looked it over. The elf said nothing. Viren nodded, muttered something to himself.

His eyes darkened first. Then, he started the spell, and Harrow’s grip on the hilt of his sword tightened involuntarily. The elf looked concerned, but he did not move. He looked to Harrow, who tried to look at him reassuringly. To his credit, the elf did not react the same way Harrow and Sarai had the first time they had witnessed dark magic.

Viren finished whatever spell he was attempting, and—

Nothing happened.

Viren furrowed his brows, tried another spell. He glared at the stubborn piece of cloth, hoping to get it to come off through sheer force of will alone. Harrow felt fear grip his veins. If this didn’t work, there would be a fight, and Harrow didn’t want to think about how it had to end.

Viren tried again, as dark tendrils spread across his face. Harrow felt a chill, despite their proximity to the fire, and just as he was about to go over and pull Viren back, the ribbon changed color, grew in size. When it was a deep red, Viren tugged, and it came apart easily in his hands, ends disintegrating into ashes.

Harrow knew Viren to be cocky, arrogant, but he did not smile as he finished, only looked down, eventually dropping whatever dust was left on his hands to the ground.

The elf looked on, horror finally dawning on his face. Maybe he thought Viren wouldn’t be able to do it, especially after the first two failed attempts. “That was—”

“You’re welcome.” Viren interrupted, still looking down. His eyes were dark as night, and the skin around them resembled burnt parchment more than his usual complexion. In the flickering light of the fire, any sane person would have run from him. Harrow wanted to ask him if he was alright, but Viren turned and walked off into the woods. Harrow figured he could give him time, if he needed it.

Harrow cleared his throat as the elf looked down at the arm he had been willing to lose. He poked the flesh tenderly, winced, but relief was spreading across his features. He looked up at Harrow after a moment.

“To my people, dark magic is the worst thing one can witness, let alone endure, but. . .” he trailed off, awe soon enough shifting into guilt.

“I understand,” Harrow said. “We’re hoping to make things right, to take the dragon prince back to where it belongs.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “How did that egg come into your possession?” He asked, looking around. But, Sarai was not nearby. Harrow figured she was close, but hidden, waiting to see how things would transpire with the elf before letting him see the egg again. She had no doubt slipped away when the moment it became clear that Viren’s spell would work.

“It’s a long story,” Harrow said with a small smile, even though it most certainly was not. The elf looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “We’re not there just yet.” Harrow added, expression dropping into something a little more serious.

The elf raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in response.

“I—my father, er, the king. . .you’re sure?” Harrow asked suddenly, without thinking, because this was his last chance to know for certain, and it was the elf’s turn to look uncomfortable. He didn’t say it, but the word _justice_ hung in the air between them.

Harrow sobered, “One way or another, I’m returning the egg. You can help us.” He held out a hand.

The elf was already shaking his head. “Helping your kind is tantamount to betraying mine,” he said, a little crestfallen, “and I have brought myself enough shame.” He shifted, “but,” he continued, “I can try to get you safe passage through the border. Straight to the queen of the dragons.”

Harrow looked at him, raised an eyebrow. His outstretched hand dropped slowly to his side. “How can I be sure you wouldn’t just lead us into a trap?” He asked, steel in his voice. He wanted to do the right thing, but he would not lead his closest friends to slaughter.

The elf’s eyes shifted downwards. “You cannot.” He said simply. “But, I will do everything in my power to see justice prevail.” _Whatever that justice may be._

“That’s reassuring,” Harrow said, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. “But, I guess, I’ll take it.”

* * *

 “Hey,” Sarai said, approaching Viren, who was predictably sulking by himself just out of earshot of the clearing. He turned away when she approached. He had started his own little fire in front of him, but it would soon burn out. However, it was light enough to see by.

“Sarai, whatever you want to lay on me, whatever truth you think you’ve gained to help you understand me, I’m not in the mood,” he said, bitterly. He still would not look at her, looking instead at the small struggling fire.

She softened, took a seat on the rock next to him, but it was small, and their legs touched. She put Harrow’s pack, and its precious cargo, in the ground in front of them. “You did the right thing.” She said, voice much gentler than she had ever spoken to him before, “for once,” she added, with a light jab to his ribs.

He finally turned to look at her, trying his best to keep his expression neutral. He failed, bits of—was it sadness? Frustration?—leaking through.

“For once,” he said bitterly.

Sarai’s smile dropped as the air between them became tense. She didn’t want to say it, but she did anyways. “He would have done that for you,” she said softly, and they both knew she didn’t have to elaborate, “just as he almost did it for me.”

“I know, Sarai,” Viren said, grateful for the dying fire to hide the tears that rose to his eyes. “And I couldn’t let him.”

“I wouldn’t have let him, either,” Sarai said, with guilt in her tone.

Viren didn’t know about what she had asked Harrow to promise, if it came down between Viren and the egg. She felt bad thinking back on that, now. She was certain Harrow would let nothing come before saving his friends.

“Well then, that’s settled,” Viren said with a surprising amount of heat. He all but knew Sarai would have chosen Harrow if it really came down to the two of them, but it still hurt to have the words out in the open. He wanted her to leave, to not make him face this so _unprepared_.

“So, we’re really the ones that have to keep him alive, huh,” Sarai said with half a grin, hoping to lighten the mood. She understood that Viren wanted to be alone, but she wouldn’t feel right leaving him like this. “Well, between my amazing battle prowess and tactical brilliance, and your decent magic, I think we can pull it off.”

“‘Decent’?” Viren sputtered, with an air of indignation, “I just _saved_ us.” Sarai smiled, happy he took the bait.

“It was alright,” she said with a shrug, “I’m pretty sure half of the theatrics were just for your own ego.”

“You caught me,” he said sarcastically, and Sarai laughed, and then Viren saw it. He saw what Harrow saw in her. The love, the patience, the kindness. She and Viren could not be more different, and yet, here they were, united because—well, because of Harrow. Because they both loved him so much.

He knew the choice had already been made, but if it had really come down to the two of them, Viren was glad Harrow chose her. Viren would get him killed. Sarai would do anything to save him. It was balance in a sense of the word.

“Come on, we have to make sure Harrow doesn’t get too friendly.” She said, extending a hand to Viren. He took it.

* * *

 By the time they were back in the clearing, Harrow and the elf were just about done. They shook hands as Sarai and Viren approached. The elf eyed Viren warily, but said nothing. Then, he turned to look at Sarai, and the pack she had slung over her shoulder. He did not move, but the atmosphere tensed. Not a lot, but enough to feel it.

“It’s decided, then,” Harrow said, breaking the uneasy silence, “we’ll keep going. We’ll finish this.”

The elf simply nodded, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” Viren said, before he had even made it two steps, “can we at least get your name?” He said, trying his best not to smile. The elf looked back at him with an interesting mix of loathing and resignation.

“Runaan,” he supplied, rather anticlimactically, before taking off into the woods.

Viren looked pleased with himself. Sarai raised an eyebrow at him, and he stumbled over an explanation, finger pointing between himself and the space Runaan had previously occupied, before he finally settled on, “It’s a thing. He—I—it was funny.”

“I bet.”

“And we’re sure he’s not going to come back while we sleep and,” Sarai motioned to her neck, “finish the job?”

“Nope,” Harrow said, with a teasing smirk. “He said no promises.”

“You’re funny, Harrow,” Viren said with a deadpan expression.

“I’m not kidding,” Harrow tossed back, trying to be a little more serious, but failing. “You, in particular, will have to sleep with one eye open, Viren,” he said, but Viren just rolled his eyes and walked off.

“Too much?” Harrow asked, and Sarai just walked over and placed a kiss on his cheek in lieu of answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the final chapter coming soon to a theater near you *sad kazoo noises*


	4. to save you, my love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna be honest. elves are dicks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took me. so long.

Viren was afraid.

As they got closer and closer to the border, this fear got heavier and heavier in his gut. As the scraggly peaks of the wasteland that stood between humanity and all the magic and wonder of Xadia came into view, he found it harder and harder to ignore this fear.

He kept thinking back to the first time he had been here, when he had been dragged along by his father in a routine mission that soon became a historic mission. The King of the Dragons, murdered by a couple of humans who would not run, who decided to cross any lines in order to survive. Viren could have been proud, of his family, of his kingdom, of humanity, but he wasn’t. The memory filled him with regret. Thinking back on his choice of taking the dragon’s egg only served to put him on edge.

At first, he tried to reason with himself, if he had simply destroyed the egg, Harrow might have died in the castle raid, and if he had left it alone, then the dragon prince might have taken its revenge years later; Harrow might have died anyways. He was presented with an opportunity and ended up taking the choice that would not directly lead to his friend’s death, but still, he found that this conclusion did not fill him with solace.

So, he was afraid. Afraid of what would happen once they crossed the border, something made simpler now by the fact that Thunder no longer patrolled the skies, but also something Viren did not think for a second it would be easy.

He was afraid of losing Harrow, and—something he could only admit to himself—of losing Sarai.

Harrow was his oldest friend, the person in the world he was closest to. Viren could not bear the thought of returning to the castle without him, of living life without Harrow’s warm eyes and easy smile at his side. He did not think he could live with himself if he was the reason his best friend died. And Sarai, well, Viren had never outright disliked her, although they bickered often, but ever since they had started this adventure, Viren had a respect for her that would never truly go away. She was so strong, so brave, and Viren might have been jealous at first, but, now, he took comfort in the fact that she was infallible. She would do whatever needed to be done.

Viren was also scared of what the elves would demand, if they were not as welcoming as Harrow believed, as Viren speculated. If there was to be blame placed anywhere for the theft of the dragon’s egg, Viren knew he had to take it, to save Harrow and his bleeding heart from saving him, but that did not mean he was not afraid of the outcome, of the death that would no doubt await him.

He was so scared, and it was so hard to ignore when the desolation they faced echoed the fate he feared.

But, still, he carried on. Because, he could not let Harrow go on alone. Because, as scared as he was, he knew he was not alone.

And that was enough.

* * *

 Sarai was raised to do the right thing.

Until now, the right thing had been an easy choice. Until now, the right thing consisted of helping others, of protecting her people, of doing something that might not  _be_ a smart choice to survive, but it was undoubtedly the  _right_ thing to do, and no one could argue otherwise. The right thing had been indisputable, sacrosanct. The right choice would have been apparent to anyone. It was simple.

As they got closer to the border, and Sarai gave more thought to how this mission would end, she found that for once, the choice she knew would be easiest to make would not be the right thing to do.

Because, here was the thing. Sarai loved Harrow. And he would not stop until he saw the egg returned to where it belonged. To him, anything else would not be the  _right_  thing to do.

But—

 _But,_  as the wasteland loomed closer and closer, Sarai had the grim realization that she could not—she  _would_ not do the right thing if it meant losing Harrow. This revelation made her uncomfortable, but it helped her sharpen her resolve. Choosing Harrow over a stolen egg, an  _innocent_ child, was not the right thing to do. However, she would not hesitate. And, if it came down to it, Sarai would choose Harrow over Viren, too.

If it came down to her, nothing was worth losing him.

If it caused a war, then it caused a war. Sarai would be by Harrow’s side in a battlefield. There, at least, she could protect him. There, she could help him. If it came down to causing a war to  _save him_ , she was ready to fight.

She could at least hope it didn’t come down to her. It was a selfish wish, to want the choice to be taken out of her hands, but, she could imagine the end, see it so clearly, she knew what would happen if they crossed the border and the dragons were not so forgiving.

There was of course, another way this ended, but she could already hear Harrow saying  _I won’t let you die to protect me._

Regardless of which path they took, which way this ended, there was only one thing she could say in return.

_And I won’t let you die._

* * *

Harrow was the first to see their stronghold, perched precariously over the edge of a cliff, in full view of the river of magma which separated elf and human, or, as he had been taught, us and them.

He had never been here before, and he did not even know what to expect. This wasteland was a far cry from the castle he had known, the forests and the rivers. Runaan had given him a general direction to head towards, a couple of landmarks which would guide his way. These would bring them into the path of at least one group of patrolling elves, and all Harrow had to do was trust that the elf that more than a week ago had wanted him dead would now prefer peace. It was an elusive comfort to find. And, as the point of no returned peeked above the rocks and stones in the distance, a feeling he found he could not trust.

He stopped, turned, and Viren and Sarai, who were a couple of steps behind, arguing over something Viren had read in a book which Sarai swore was wrong, caught up with him before stopping as well.

“What’s wrong?” Viren asked, sharing a look with Sarai that Harrow wished he had missed.

“I. . .” Harrow started, not sure how to say it. He bit his lip. Sarai reached out for his hand, but he moved it away. “I think you two should stay here.”

“No,” Sarai said, without hesitation. “You’re not leaving us.” She crossed her arms, in that stubborn way Viren had told Harrow she had picked up from him.

Harrow wanted to argue, to tell them he could not trust the better angels of someone he had barely met, but he knew it wouldn’t work. He also knew pretending he was asking as anything more than their friend would not work. Sarai would not be swayed by formality now, and Viren would say he wasn’t king yet, and he never even listened to him when he was prince. Harrow was usually the stubborn one, but now he was the one that found himself wishing to move them.

He took a moment to find the right words, but during that second, Sarai sneaked her hand into his and Harrow gripped tightly, finding that he could not have let go even if he wanted to.

“Come on,” Viren said, waving off his concerns and going forward. They would continue together.

Harrow felt guilt as much as relief.

* * *

They continued along the river of lava, walking in silence now that they knew they were in dangerous territory. According to the directions he had been given, they would first come across a bridge, and although Harrow was not entirely sure he wanted to find it, they came across it before dark. They had descended somewhat, and now ragged peaks stood above the path they walked on. The lava below provided light enough to see by, which was good because the overbearing stones blocked out the meager sunlight above them, light that was quickly disappearing as night descended.

They crossed the bridge, which was wide enough and short enough that they did not think it was unsafe and found themselves in front of another canyon.  There was a sharp curve at the beginning, meaning they could not see further than a few feet into it.

Harrow paused before it. “I have a bad feeling,” he said, looking between the high walls and the narrow escape.

“Just barely?” Viren said, and Sarai aimed a jab at his ribs which he expertly avoided.

“It’s a perfect place for an ambush,” she replied, hand already on her sword.

“It’s a great thing we trust the elf that gave us directions, then,” Viren said sarcastically. He put up both hands. “I’ll go first.”

“No,” Harrow said.

“Yes,” Sarai said, pushing Viren forward. She held onto Harrow’s arm, but he did not fight it.

Viren walked forward cautiously. “You know, you’re making me regret never learning how to use a sword,” he called to them as he reached the bend, looked around. “It looks safe to me,” he added, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth that an arrow went whizzing past his face, between him and the others. His expression twisted into one of shock and fear as he scrambled back out of the canyon. “I take it back,” he amended.

“Do you think it marks the border?” Sarai asked Harrow as they watched the top of the ridge. They had both pulled out their swords, holding them defensively although there were no signs of movement.

“Maybe,” Harrow said, but he knew they had to keep going forward. “Maybe I can talk to them.” He adjusted his stance. “Try to explain.”

“I don’t think they very much want to listen,” Viren said.

“They’ll follow us,” Sarai warned.

“Not if we take out the bridge.” Viren said suddenly, then paused, thought for a moment. The elves were content enough with a warning, it seemed. “I mean, I don’t  _think_  they can jump that far.”

Harrow considered it. This was where they were supposed to be, but Viren was right, he wouldn’t be able to explain much with several arrows sticking out of him. He had to believe they would find another way, so, he nodded, and Sarai fell back first. Harrow put a hand on Viren’s shoulder. “Do it fast,” he said, “and, don’t die,” he added, with a reassuring pat.

Viren waited for them to make it back to the other side, then positioned himself between them and the middle of the bridge. He started a spell, but was interrupted by an arrow landing at his feet. The elves were still warning them, although they were not yet willing to make themselves known. If they hadn’t been so overtly hostile, which meant that Harrow did not believe Runaan had talked to them, then maybe diplomacy would not have been out of the question.

Viren finished the spell, slammed a hand down on the rock, and the bridge shook, rumbled.

It did not fall.

He furrowed his brows, thought to try something else, but then like ghosts, the elves appeared, and he did not think before opting for something more offensive rather than defensive.

The spell he used as arcane, strong, he had never tried it before, and he knew it was his only choice. With it, he shot a blast of lightning out of his fingers, and it struck one elf in the center of the chest, knocking him back hard. He appeared to be their only archer, and now the other two advanced more slowly.

Viren would have celebrated, but he instead found himself looking down at his blackened fingers. They tingled uncomfortably. He felt lightheaded, tired. He collapsed to one knee, but then couldn’t even remain that upright.

He only managed feel fear as he fell to unconsciousness.

* * *

“No!” Harrow screamed, as Viren hit the ground. He did not think before running towards him. He was closer than the elves, but he knew he would not be able to bring Viren back in time. He didn’t care; he had to try.

Sarai was right behind him, took a position in front of Harrow, to defend him. Harrow knew she would not be able to hold them off for long, but he was not leaving Viren behind, and he worked as fast as he could to pull Viren to safety.

He did not stop to think there was no safe place, nowhere he could get cover. One of the elves rushed forward and clashed with Sarai, who could barely hold her own. The other fell back to where her comrade had fallen.

Sarai forced the elf to give a little ground, but then fell back when she saw Harrow clear the bridge. “We don’t want to fight,” she called out.

The third elf was now back on his feet, and she knew they had no hope of winning. She could not even look back at Harrow, could not afford the luxury of seeing her own doubt and fear mirrored in his face.

The elves did not reply, just attacked.

* * *

 _Don’t make me do this,_ Harrow thought, close enough to edge of the cliff to feel the heat from the river of lava that flowed at the end of a very long fall.

“Don’t hurt them,” he said, not being able to afford fear. He looked at the crumpled forms of Viren and Sarai, both vulnerable. Even more so considering Harrow was now outnumbered three to one, and this desperate move was all he had to save his friends.

The next second felt like a year.

The moment he was backed into a corner, with no choice but the worst choice, Harrow thought of his father. He had tried to prepare him for this moment.  _Don’t let them know you’re scared,_  he had said. Harrow understood, finally, wanting to be alone in the end. He was not quite alone, but being surrounded by enemies on three sides and a very long way down on the other was close enough.

He looked between the three elves. No one moved.

Harrow shifted. He reminded himself he was above begging.  _Meet your end with honor,_ his father had also said. Harrow wondered how many more of his father’s teachings would suddenly make sense if he was in a moment such as this one, how many were hard lessons to accept anywhere but in the heat of the moment.

He held the egg firmly in both his hands, arms outstretched.

He didn’t even know if his friends were still alive. He thought he could see the blackened tips of Viren’s fingers twitch whenever he could spare a glance, but that might have just been his mind supplying false hope. Sarai was still where she had fallen hard, and too far for Harrow to see if she was still breathing. He didn’t want to think about the fact that she might be dead, that he might be doing this for nothing. That he had gotten his friends killed.

Sarai had fallen in defense of Viren. One of the elves had gone for him, and Harrow could not have helped even if he had noticed, but Sarai had seen this, reacted, rushed at the elf. They had both fallen, scuffled, but Sarai did not get back up.

In the moment that followed, Harrow knew there was only one thing that could possibly save them, and he had rushed to the edge of the cliff where he now stood, hoping the elves wouldn’t be able to see right through him.

One of the elves relaxed her stance, and the other two followed suit. They looked to her, but she was only staring at Harrow, at him and the egg standing far too close to the edge of the cliff. Harrow would not back down until he was sure his friends were safe, but he knew that was a simple enough message to send.

The elf in charge finally reached a decision, and she silently signaled something to the other two. They withdrew back through the bridge, although it was clear they wanted to argue. They disappeared as quietly as they had arrived.

Harrow finally took a step back from the edge of the cliff. He brought the egg close to his chest, wrapped an arm securely around it. He hoped this wasn’t a trick, because from here the only escape was down.

“We were told you were coming,” she said without preamble.

“You knew who we were, and you attacked us anyways?” He asked incredulously. He had only met one elf in his entire life, and he did not expect them all to so easily attack without explanation, without a chance to reason first.

The elf raised an eyebrow, “A human boy with the prince of the dragons at his mercy,” she cast a glance at Viren, “and a dark mage at his side.” She looked at him like he should have expected such a reaction. “It did not inspire confidence in us.”

“I’m here to make things right,” he said, and it sounded wonderfully childish to his ears. Based on her slight change in expression, shift in stance, Harrow figured the elf had felt the same way.

“Tell me, then, which of your people took the heir of the dragon king,” she said, much like a parent asking a child who had taken a cookie from the tray. Harrow didn’t like it. He felt young—he  _was_  young—but he would not let them push him around. And, he would not turn Viren over to them when he did not trust their definition of justice.

So, instead, he stood firmly, stood tall. “I am to be their king, and I take responsibility for their actions,” he said. He would not let them write off his idealism as just a facet of his youth.  

The elf paused for a moment, but gave ground at his resolve. “It is not for me to judge or decide,” she said simply. “I was not the one you wronged.”

Harrow took her wording as a good sign. He looked down at the egg in his arms, then at his friends lying painfully still. “Whatever the price of justice is, I will pay it.”

She accepted that, turned to lead the way down the bridge and the canyon where only minutes ago her people had ambushed them. Harrow did not immediately follow.

“My friends, I can’t just leave them,” he called out.

“We are close to your stronghold. I’m sure your people will find them,” she said dismissively, as if this was to be the easiest portion of the path that now stood in front of him.

Harrow looked at them again, not moving an inch.

“Can I at least—” He started, then found a lump in his throat. The elf understood. It might have just been a trick of the light, but Harrow could have sworn there was something other than steel in her expression, just for a moment. She looked down at the egg still in Harrow’s grasp, but gave a small nod nonetheless and then disappeared into the bend of the canyon.

Harrow took a small step when she was out of sight, but less than a second later ran to where his friends were lying, collapsing on his knees heavily next to Sarai. He turned her over gently.

She groaned, but she was breathing—she was  _alive—_ and Harrow felt such relief that tears welled in his eyes. He lifted her slowly, placed her against a large boulder. He pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. She had a small cut, but it was not bleeding heavily.

Harrow went back and brought Viren next to Sarai. Viren drooped, eventually settling his head on Sarai’s shoulder. Harrow did not think he could feel anything but fear at that moment, but he smiled.

There was so much he wished he could say to them, but he knew if he had gotten the chance he wouldn’t have been strong enough. He also knew this was the only way to keep them safe. They would have followed him to the ends of the world, and then past that, and he couldn’t let that happen. He knew it was unlikely he’d find the justice at the hands of the dragon queen to be merciful. This was the end.

 _I can be scared,_ he thought; finally, alone, he could afford it. “But, I have to do this without you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

He found his discarded pack and left it between them. It was empty, so they would know, but most importantly, he realized he had nothing else he could leave. It was as definite as anything else he had to offer.

“Take care of each other,” he said, more for himself than anything. So, he would not have to live with the regret of not saying anything. “I’m sorry,” he added. The words, spoken, even if his friends could not hear them, were all he had left.

He leaned over and planted a kiss on Viren’s forehead, then turned to do the same for Sarai. He pulled back, looked at her. She was so peaceful. He did not want to think about her when she woke up, found him gone. He could not bring himself to think about the fear and pain she would feel.

He hoped she forgave him.

It made him feel selfish, to think of what leaving her behind would do to her, but at least she would live.

He got up, made his way to the other side of the bridge. Before he rounded the corner that would take him out of sight of them, he looked back, one last time.

* * *

Sarai woke, disoriented, reached for a sword at her side that wasn’t there. She blinked, breaths coming in gasps, as she stumbled to her feet.

She looked around, but the threat she knew to be there was gone. For a second, she couldn’t remember who they had been fighting, and she felt panic rise, but she closed her eyes, steadied her breathing, focused, and—

Elves. She looked around, but it was glaringly obvious that they were gone. Her eyes widened, as she searched for—

“Harrow?” She called out, but her foot caught on something, and she looked down at his empty pack. Behind her, she heard Viren cough, groan, as he woke up too.

She stumbled back against the wall, realization taking all the strength out of her. She sank down, filled with grief, filled with pain.

“What happened?” Viren said, slowly, from his position next to her. He let out another cough, and this time it sounded painful. “Sarai?” He asked, again.

“This is your fault,” she said, trying and failing to hold back her rage. Viren still did not understand, was far too slow to connect the dots, and Sarai found that anger granted her the strength to stand, to push off the wall, kick it in lieu of aiming a kick at Viren’s head. “He’s gone!” She screamed at cold stone, because she still didn’t want to look at him.

“Harrow—” Viren said, breathlessly. He looked around. “No!” He said, slamming a hand against the rock, before curling up on himself, burying his head in his hands.

“This is your fault,” Sarai said again, and this time Viren understood, and agreed.

* * *

Harrow’s fear did not come from the dragon’s size, although it was huge, towering above him. It did not come from its rumored power, although he did not doubt for a second it could crush him as an afterthought. It did not come from anything he saw, the sharp claws, the teeth, the might, the power. It came from the simple fact that if it wanted to kill him, Harrow couldn’t have blamed it.

All this time, he had been speaking of the crimes committed against it, but when he was finally face to face, he found it hard to picture this strong, seemingly invincible creature as a grieving mother.

She came closer to him, with steps that shook the earth itself. Harrow took a step back, unable to hide his fear. He held the egg out, surprised at the gentleness with which it was taken out of his grasp. He looked at his empty hands, resignation to his fate growing with each passing second. He let his arms fall to his sides, feeling the anger radiating from the dragon.

At first, he held his head up, looking straight at her, but then she took another step forward, close enough now that he could almost touch her, and Harrow stumbled back. The ground beneath him was uneven, his footing was unsure, and he fell backwards. Instead of scrambling back, or running like his mind was screaming at him to do, he closed his eyes, even as he heard the deep growls emanating from the dragon. He winced at each new sound, not wanting to know which one would be the last one he’d ever hear.

The noises and the thundering footsteps quieted, but Harrow was too afraid to look. He wished the dragon had been merciful enough to just end his life quickly; this game was cruel. He felt himself start to shake, and he clenched his fists, fingernails digging into the stone underneath him. He waited for the final blow.

There was silence.

And, still, nothing happened.

Harrow waited there in darkness, for as long as he could manage, but eventually, he opened his eyes, and found that the dragon was gone.

He blinked, thinking it to be a trick. Surely, it was just more of this terrible game, and she’d be in front of him again, and there would be heat and light before the end.

Still, nothing happened. He rose to his feet, but just stood there instead of running off, despite the overwhelming fear he felt. It didn’t feel like justice, although deep inside he hoped it could be. A king slain for a king; a prince spared for a prince.

He walked back to the path from which he had come, slowly, because it eased his thinking more than anything else. Even if he wanted to run as fast as he could, he did not have that luxury, to be seen as coward when he was still so unsure of what was going on.

Harrow stumbled back, feeling nothing but dull surprise that he was still alive. He felt that the mercy of the dragon was only so in name. He felt there was something bigger than himself at work, an echo of things yet to come. He had resigned himself to a bitter end, and although he did not want it, being spared without reason left him feeling unbalanced.

He should have felt relief, but he mostly felt confusion. It was not that he wanted to die, the opposite, really, but now he felt something he did not think would be possible.

He felt indebted.

It was not a good feeling.

* * *

He rounded the last corner before he should have been in full view of his friends and was greeted by the welcome sight of both of them at each other’s throats. He was not sure how he hadn’t heard them further out. He was pretty sure they could hear them all the way back in the castle.

Viren noticed him first, cast him a quick glance before turning back to Sarai. The word he was about to say died in his throat as he turned back to Harrow, stared. Sarai turned to look at him next, and she barely processed what she saw before she ran at him.

She launched herself into his arms. Harrow lost his footing and they both fell on the ground. She buried her head in his chest and Harrow held her tightly. He thought he was too tired to feel anything, but warm relief spread through him.

“I thought you were dead,” Sarai said thickly into his chest. This was the first time he had ever seen her cry.

“I’m not,” Harrow said, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I’m right here.”

She eventually let him up, but she wouldn’t let go of him until Harrow made his way to Viren, who also took the liberty of throwing himself into Harrow’s arms, although with only half of the dramatics Sarai had achieved.

“She blamed me,” Viren said accusingly when they had finally pulled apart.

“Because it was your fault!” Sarai shot back, but now there wasn’t that much heat in the accusation. She was too tired to hate him.

Harrow sighed, in both relief and exhaustion.

“Let’s go home,” he said, tired, weary, but alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's an epilogue but i'm gonna keep it real with you chief everyone ends up sad


End file.
